


Beers and Cupid’s Arrow

by emsie_writes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 22:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17796092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emsie_writes/pseuds/emsie_writes
Summary: Harry drags Louis out to a speed dating event on Valentine’s Day. Harry wants to find love. Louis really, really hopes he doesn’t.





	Beers and Cupid’s Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing a cutesy little Valentine's fic so I did. Enjoy!

Louis huffs a sigh as he stares down at the cutesy pink form in his hand. At the sound, Harry bumps their shoulders together. Louis bumps back and lets a begrudging smile stretch his lips. 

“C’mon, Lou,” Harry says easily. He’s already scribbling in his own horrific pink papery heart. “It’s going to be fun. Look!” He peels the back of the paper off and sticks it over his left breast. 

_My name is:_  
HARRY  
_I am interested in:_  
MEN  
_My pronouns are:_  
HE/HIM/HIS  
_Talk to me about:_  
GIRAFFES

Beside the last word, there’s a terrible little stick drawing of what Louis assumes must be a giraffe. It looks more like a horribly deformed insect, but Louis isn’t saying anything. 

What he does say is, “Giraffes?” 

“Their necks are so long because they have to reach the trees,” Harry says sagely. 

“And what’s your excuse?” Louis quips.

“Heeeeeey!” 

Smirking, Louis bends to fill in his own stupid little heart: _louis, men, he/him/his,_ …. And what should these other lonely Valentine’s Day singles talk to him about? Nothing, preferably. He hasn’t even consented to be here, really. 

All he knew was that very suddenly he had Valentine’s Day plans with Harry, and not the kind he’d been working himself up to ask Harry. 

Harry had seen the brewery’s speed dating event online and immediately RSVP’d for the two of them without asking Louis if he was available. But, of course Louis was available. He was always available for Harry, and Harry seemed to know it, even if he didn’t know it to its full extent… yet. 

Louis bites down every sarcastic response that pops into his head and writes simply: _is love real?_

“It’s starting,” Harry nudges Louis. “Get that thing on you quick.” Louis, suddenly embarrassed by how depressing his speed date prompt is, turns slightly away from Harry as he sticks it to the front of his shirt. Harry towers over him, side eyeing Louis’ heart, so Louis turns more fully away with the pretence of giving his attention to the host who is trying with some difficulty to quiet the room of singles. 

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” The host calls over the din. There’s some half-hearted whoops and a rather impressive wolf whistle from directly beside him. Louis wrinkles his nose to stop a grin at Harry’s lasciviousness. 

“You should have been given three beer tickets on arrival for your entry fee. You’re also entitled to your fill of tapas—and don’t worry, there isn’t anything with garlic.” There’s a titter of laughter, and the host continues on. “The speed dating will happen in the first hour, then you’ll get to mingle with your new friends for the second half. What happens after that is up to you.” He gives them a cheeky grin obviously meant to embolden them, but Louis’ stomach has dropped through his toes. 

He’d said yes to coming to this thing, like a fool, because he knew Harry wanted to. He hadn’t really thought of what would happen if Harry found someone he liked here. 

_But I drove us,_ Louis thinks desperately. _He’ll need a ride home._ It’s feeble and Louis knows it. If Harry finds someone here that he likes enough to leave with, the simple matter of transportation won’t be an issue. 

Lost in this horrible realization, Louis gives a start as people start moving around him, apparently with purpose. He follows Harry covertly, looking around to understand what’s going on. 

Staff are directing singles to wooden pub tables, booth against the wall on one side and sturdy wooden chair on the other, throughout the brewery. A tall, alarming woman appears in front of Louis, reads his chest, and sends him to the booth-side of a row of tables. 

Louis looks down at the table in front of him, where a paper with instructions sits in the middle of the table between two empty pint glasses. 

_Welcome to Conchobar’s Brewery! At our speed dating event, you get to go on six 10-minute dates in 60 minutes._

_The single in the chair (not the booth!) will move one table to the right when your date is up. Flag down one of our helpful matchmakers if you have any questions._

_Not sure where to begin? Try asking your date what they want most out of life, or refer to their Cupid’s Match info card. Happy dating!_

Louis looks up and searches for Harry in the crowd of matchmaker staff and singles. He isn’t interested in learning what these strangers have to say about life or love, but it might make the dread of the coming hour a little easier to bear if Harry will be one of his six. 

Finally, Harry’s familiar tumble of long curls catch Louis’ eye. He’s seated across the brewery, much too far, and Louis looks down Harry’s back, covered by a black and gold patterned silk top. He’s in one of the wooden chairs, and Louis counts the spaces between them. 

They aren’t close enough, Louis knew it already, but he keeps counting after six anyway. Ten. Louis shuts his eyes and resigns himself to an hour of meaningless small talk.

His eyes flick open and back to Harry again who’s leaning in over the table, extending a hand to whoever’s just sat across from him. Louis leans sideways in the booth, trying not to lean into the person beside him, but it’s useless. Harry’s too big—his hair, his back, his ridiculous arms. 

Louis sits back with another huff. He should really start counting them: How Many Huffs Before Louis Loses It? 

But his patience is unrivalled, especially when it’s for Harry’s sake. Maybe he could make it to infinity; Harry’s bound to keep him exasperated for at least that long. 

A big, hulking figure appears across from Louis, pulling out the seat noisily and throwing himself down without any mind for the potential fragility of the pub furniture. 

Louis strains a smile. The other man ( _Zac_ , his card reads) smiles loosely and large, indolently. 

“All right, date one,” calls the host. Louis must have missed his name. He isn’t all that bothered by it, to be honest. “You’ve got… ten minutes.”

A cacophony of sound threatens to split Louis’ ears, and Zac’s voice is in the terrible, horrible mix. 

Louis gives his own name, polite but withholding. Zac waits expectantly, but Louis doesn’t offer anything else up, just meets the man’s gaze evenly. 

“Well, I’m a CPA,” he says, jumping into a monologue about how accounting is really quite interesting, he swears it is, it’s just got a bit of a reputation. Louis nods and nods and nods and his eyes glaze over at minute three, and he really, really wishes the pint in front of him wasn’t bone dry. 

Like magic, or mercy, one of the so-called matchmakers appears to interrupt their date. 

“Fancy using one of those drink tickets?” 

“Yes,” Louis all but shouts. She’s got bottles of beer on a platter on her hand and in the pockets of her waist-pouch. “Your strongest, thanks.” Zac eyes Louis with interest at that, but Louis isn’t ruffled. It’s minute four of sixty and he doesn’t think his three drink tickets are going to cut it.

With his glass full and the matchmaker off to the next couple, Louis is forced to bring his attention back to Zac.

“Like yourself a stiff one, yeah?” Zac waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Louis’ proud of himself for not groaning out loud.

“I’m only here because a friend dragged me with him.” Louis takes a sip of his drink. “Figure being a bit buzzed will take the edge off of listening to a bunch of wankers talk about themselves for an hour. Doesn’t seem to be working yet though.” 

Zac looks affronted, his big, annoying mouth hanging open. “Well, that’s just not right! Supposed to be for finding someone to date, this thing is!”

“Ah, well, you’ve got five more to waste your boring story on,” Louis shrugs. 

“CPAs are _not_ boring!” Louis waves a hand over his mouth, feigning a yawn. It’s minute seven and Louis isn’t sure he’s going to make it. Luckily (and also so, so unluckily), Zac takes this as an opportunity to continue his previous rambling about the exciting life and times of an accountant. 

Louis lets his mind wander, not even pretending to listen. He tries to lean around Zac’s massive form to spy on Harry, but the man mirrors Louis’ movement and forces Louis to bring his eyes back to his date. 

“And, God, have I got stories about tax evasion. You wouldn’t even believe the lengths people will go to to get out of paying any amount of money.”

An alarm goes off from the middle of the pub, saving Louis from having to respond to whatever drivel the piss-boring accountant was spewing. 

“Move to your right, it’s time for date two!”

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” Zac says politely. He scrapes his chair back and slips into the one just next to them. 

“Karan,” offers Louis’ newest date, extending a hand across the space between them. Louis shakes it and considers the man before him. Dark hair, dark eyes, warm brown skin, straight teeth. Rather attractive, if Louis could pull his thoughts from Harry long enough to think of anyone else that way. As it is, Karan’s eyebrows are twisted up.

“Is love real? Ah.” 

Louis isn’t sure what to make of that. They sit silently for a moment and Louis can feel the drag of time pulling away slowly. They both take long drinks of their pints. Louis’ is already low, but he needs to ration. He’ll ask for another on date three.

One of the matchmakers drops a plate of four chicken wings on the table in passing and Louis eagerly scoops one up. 

“All yours,” Karan smiles. 

“No need to be polite, mate,” Louis says, pressing the plate towards the man.

“Vegetarian,” he explains in a word. Louis makes a noise of understanding and drags the plate back towards himself.

“Long time?” Louis asks, because Karan doesn’t seem like a self-important asshole (he cuts a look at Zac at the next table, who is emphatically gesturing with his hands, and shudders), so he supposes he can put in a tiny modicum of effort. 

“All my life. I’ve never found it difficult and no, I’ve never slipped up.” Louis laughs at that, feeling the peppery flesh of chicken tear under his teeth. “Why don’t you think love is real?”

“Who says I don’t?” Louis retorts. His eyes trail over Karan’s shoulder of their own accord, find Harry a table to the right of where he was before. The angle is slightly better for Louis; a sliver of Harry’s face is visible to him now. The part he can see is alight and animated. Louis slugs the rest of his drink back and shivers as the cold, bitter liquid hits his throat. 

“Just questioning it implies that you’re unsure,” Karan says. Louis can see that. 

“I guess I think it’s real, but I’m not sure it’s for everyone.” 

“Not for you?”

“Not so far.”

“Are you here to change that?” Karan smiles easily, openly, unabashed with his forwardness. Louis supposes Karan doesn’t have anything to lose. Maybe Louis doesn’t either. 

But Louis can’t find it in himself to continue the narrative, encourage the line of conversation that would surely become flirting if Louis reciprocated. He looks over Karan’s shoulder again. Harry’s dimple is deep and his nostrils flared in laughter. Louis swallows.

“I might be.” 

Date three is a mixed bag. After the not-at-all-terrible Karan, Louis feels guilty for being here when he has no intention whatsoever of taking interest in someone else. 

The guy is nice enough, but Louis has to check his nametag three times and still the name doesn’t stick. Half of Harry’s face is in Louis’ direct line of sight if he looks diagonally through the pub and what’s-his-name is talking about the disasters of his last relationship. Harry’s shoulders tilt in to the table, delivering some joke with tone, face, and body, and his date laughs, reaching a hand across the table to shove playfully at Harry’s shoulder, then trails down his arm before falling away. 

Louis’ hand shoots into the air to signal down a matchmaker and order his second beer. 

Halfway there. If Harry wants to mingle with one of his dates after, Louis’ just going to leave. There’s no point in him staying. He can have a sad, buzzed wank at home and eat cheetos on his couch like every other Valentine’s Day and not have to watch random men grope Harry across a pub.

The couple to Louis’ other side is engaged in a long-winded, stats-heavy discussion about the benefits of single-payer healthcare, and Louis internally groans because that’s coming to him next. Date three is over and _seriously-what’s-his-name?_ is standing to move onto the next table before Louis can even bother to give a half-hearted “nice to meet you.” 

“Halfway through our speed dates of the night!” Host calls. “We’re gonna switch things up a bit. Our sections are a little bit separated, yeah? Singles who move, head across the pub and sit with someone interesting.” 

There’s a great rush and clatter as people rush across the room to pick someone they find attractive, because really, how are you supposed to know if someone is interesting on sight? 

Though, Louis supposes, the lad with a long purple braid tangled in his otherwise dark hair with diamond studs on either side of his mouth could maybe be considered interesting. 

Louis looks up wearily as someone stops in front of his table. And keeps looking up.

“Fancy a date?” Harry asks, grinning his dimply grin and pulling out the wooden chair to sit.

Louis springs up from the booth and bows lowly. “Sir Louis William Tomlinson the first,” he says in his best royal accent. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, fine gentleman.” 

“Louis,” Harry laughs as he takes his seat. “Have you been doing that with everyone?” He sets his own beer, barely drank, on the table. 

“Of course not, they’d have chucked me out by now.”

Harry laughs and lifts his pint to his open mouth, his green eyes sliding from Louis’ face to his chest. He stops mid-sip, frozen. Louis turns his eyes to the ceiling, knowing that Harry is finally reading his horrible pink sticker. Harry’s silence is uncharacteristic and Louis can’t help but look at him again, desperate to read whatever Harry’s feeling in his face. Harry slowly replaces his drink on the table and swallows, eyes flicking back to Louis’. 

The green that’s normally so bright and welcoming is clouded, troubled. Louis wants to rip the useless heart from his chest, both paper and pulsing organ.

“Louis,” he murmurs.

“So, how about those giraffes, eh?” Louis jokes weakly. 

“Of course love is real. If it weren’t, what are we even doing?” 

Louis’ hopeful side wonders whether Harry is using a general “we” or a very specific “we”. He meets Harry’s eyes again and is taken aback by the fire there, though he should have expected it. Harry’s passionate and full of love and always showing it without any worry about heartbreak or disappointment or unrequited feelings. Louis is always worried about them.

“I just didn’t know what to write…”

“I think there’s a great love out there for you, Lou,” Harry says emphatically. He loses his somber tone and snaps his fingers, loud and alarming, in front of Louis’ face. “You just have to reach out and grab it!” Louis laughs, but his hand twitches where it rests on his leg. He could reach out right now, grab Harry’s hand where it’s tracing the grooved lines of the table. 

Harry’s hand moves to his pint just as Louis starts to move his own from under the table and he bangs his wrist on the underside of the table in an effort to stop himself from completing the movement. 

“All right, there?” 

“Just peachy, thanks,” Louis says, massaging his wrist. A matchmaker scoops Louis’ empty plate of chicken wings and deposits a small plate of nachos.

“Oh, yes,” Harry groans, and raises the cheesiest chip in his mouth, tongue sticking out to meet it. “Meet anyone interesting yet?”

“Bunch of boring twats, aren’t they?” Louis shrugs. Harry’s eyebrows screw up and his eyes pop.

“All my dates have been good! Might have had all the fun people on the other side, yeah?” 

“Could be,” Louis says noncommittally, thinking of how Harry had been on the other side, and how Louis wished all six of his dates could be with Harry. How he could have been on one very real date with Harry if he had only plucked up the courage to ask in time. 

“What’s the matter, Lou? You’re quiet tonight.” Louis can’t stand the way Harry’s voice gets softer in his concern, nor the tilt of his head as he studies Louis, nor how if they were anywhere else, Harry would pull Louis’ head into the crook of his neck and touch Louis’ hair.

He opens his mouth to say something, he doesn’t even know what, but the timer is off again and Harry’s being instructed to move and someone else is already waiting to replace Harry and Louis just. Can’t stand it.

Date number five passes in a blur of Louis watching Harry and Harry watching Louis and neither of them being able to say anything at all to the other.

Louis gets his final drink during date six and gets giddy in his eagerness to be done with it. His date mistakes it for excitement and slides his number across the table on the back of a napkin. Louis is alarmed and tucks it into his back pocket. 

The final alarm sounds and the host congratulates them on six successful dates. _Successful my arse,_ Louis thinks. He stands, hoping to find Harry, who must only be two seats away, but date number six stands in his way and continues whatever conversation they were apparently having. 

He rambles for far too long and Louis starts bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, trying to see where Harry’s got to.

“Drink?” Louis asks in desperation. He might have a better vantage point from the bar, though there are so many people now that everyone’s standing and talking. 

Date number six smiles dashingly and Louis doesn’t give a single care but for finding Harry.

At the bar, Louis orders a beer that is quickly paid for by date number six. Louis realizes he hasn’t even looked at the man’s pink card, but maybe he should, since the guy is apparently hellbent on sticking to Louis for the rest of the night. 

_Wes,_ it reads. _Talk to me about: when I can see you next._ Louis gives an involuntary laugh at the brazenness of it and looks at his unexpected companion with newfound… not interest, but ease. It’s the kind of move Louis might make, if he wasn’t ridiculously in love with his best friend. 

Louis’ eyes search the crowd, but even Harry’s physical resemblance to a giraffe isn’t helping Louis find him. Wes leads them away from the bar to stand by a thick wooden column and attempts to engage Louis in conversation.

Louis lets himself be distracted, because someone is certainly distracting Harry, so Louis might as well while away the time before he can make his exit. 

The longer he waits, the more difficult it is to feign interest in Wes’s stories and opinions. Louis is nodding without knowing what he’s nodding to, and frequently drinking his pint so he doesn’t have to answer. 

A soft touch presses into Louis’ wrist and he feels a presence behind him. He turns with a rush of relief into Harry’s familiar form.

“There you are,” Harry says, his fingers still holding Louis’ wrist loosely. Harry’s hand slips but doesn’t drop, instead wrapping long fingers and thumb to hold Louis’ middle and pointer fingers. 

“I was looking for you,” Louis answers, looking up into Harry’s face. It’s a little pink from the beer and beautiful and Louis wants to run his thumb across his cheekbone. Harry’s cheeks dimple as his lips turn up and his eyes crease happily. 

“You know, you’re really not supposed to come if you’re already with somebody,” says a cross voice. Wes, who Louis has already forgotten. 

“We’re not,” Louis says immediately, a little shocked by the man’s assumption.

“Maybe you should be,” he says, and leaves. 

Harry and Louis look at each other for a moment, and Louis can’t read his face. There’s something hiding just out of sight behind Harry’s eyes, but Louis hasn’t ever known Harry to guard his feelings. There’s a quirk of his lips, and Louis’ mirror the movement of their own volition. Harry jerks his head, motioning for Louis to follow. 

They make their way through the brewery to a quiet corner. 

“Go on any interesting dates?” Louis asks, though he doesn’t really want to know. To his surprise, Harry just shrugs.

“They were interesting enough, but no one really held my attention,” Harry explains. 

“Ah,” Louis murmurs, keeping the victory dance happening in his stomach and brain from showing on his face with immense difficulty.

“Though, there was one guy.” Louis’ heart drops and the victory dance is abruptly cancelled. “Sounded like he might’ve been from the Royal Palace with the accent he had.” Harry’s lips twitch. “A total character, and he had some depressing ideas about love. Most fun I had all night.” Harry’s nostrils are flaring now with the effort of holding back his smile. Louis’ head is shaking and he wants to roll his eyes. Harry’s eyes are sparkling as he watches Louis’ inability to do anything but twist his head in exasperation. Louis doesn’t roll his eyes, and he doesn’t even play it off with some sarcastic comment. Instead, he thinks about a loud snap in his face, like a wake up call.

“The guy from before might’ve had a point, you know. About us.” Louis is surprised by his own boldness. The words are there, out in the world, unable to be taken back. 

Harry considers him. “You think?” He says, but it isn’t really a question, more a soft exhalation, a breath on the back of Louis’ admission. 

Louis doesn’t answer. He reaches out.


End file.
